


The Manufactured Sons

by The_Capricious_One



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, loreshir, meet cute, so to speak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10917783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Capricious_One/pseuds/The_Capricious_One
Summary: When Data unexpectedly shows up on DS9 without dropping Julian a line, Julian's a little hurt. Why is he acting so coldly?





	The Manufactured Sons

  
Julian is halfway to Quark’s and the martini he’s been fantasizing about all day (shaken, not stirred, exactly three olives) when he catches sight of Data out of the corner of his eye. Data’s not in his uniform, but that pale skin and swept back hair are distinctive.  
  
“Data!” Julian calls out. Data doesn’t turn around; he’s headed for the departure pylon, weaving efficiently between other passengers. Odd; Julian would have thought that an android’s hearing would be as acute as his own. Julian runs after him. Fortunately the crowd parts around him; a running officer in medical blues tends to have that effect.  
  
“Data!” he calls out again when he’s close. Data shoulder checks the man in front of him, hard, but the delay lets Julian catch up to him. Julian puts a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t know you were coming to Deep Space Nine! You should’ve let me know, I’d have greeted you at the airlock!”  
  
Data turns. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to see you,” he snarls. Julian can’t quite understand his facial expression—annoyed, maybe? –and then Data is gone, heading for the exit.  
  
Shame curdles in the pit of Julian’s stomach. What did he do wrong? Why was Data upset? The last time they had video chatted they'd ended the call on friendly terms. Had he done something since then? A publication Data disagreed with? Or maybe the last call hadn’t been as cordial as he had thought—  
  
Wait. In that meandering conversation about emotion and literature, Data had mentioned his brother. The dangerous one. Julian slaps his communicator. “Bashir to Odo. Lore Soong is on the station, headed for the departure gate.”  
  
Julian doesn’t see the skirmish with his own eyes, but he treats the resulting injuries. Nineteen broken bones and horrific splashback burns from a phaser beam set to kill. He’s only given half an hour to tend to these before the worst injury arrives: Lore’s cell guard. Lore struck her with enough force to shatter her ribcage. It takes two hours of intensive surgery to piece her back together. When Julian emerges from surgery, Odo is waiting for him, arms crossed.  
  
“She’ll live. Three weeks of recovery at a minimum. Ming, O’Hara, and Trent will need at least two, and I’ll need Grant to stay overnight. The rest should be ready for work again tomorrow,” Julian says.  
  
Odo shakes his head and taps out the adjustments into his security roster. “Sorelle has more courage than sense. She watched Lore short out the cell’s forcefield with his bare hands and didn’t think to call for backup. I had to take him in myself.”  
  
“He’s locked up, then?”  
  
“Yes, although I’m not sure how long we can hold him. If we’d been on a Federation outpost instead of a Cardassian station, he would have made a clean break. I don’t want to find out how long it takes him to figure out Cardassian tech. Our odds would be better if I was permitted to disassemble him—“  
  
“No!” The thought of disassembling a sentient being like so many machine parts turns Bashir’s stomach.  
  
Odo harrumphs. “Federation sensibilities,” he says, as if it were a curse word. “Even removing his hands would help.”  
  
“No,” Julian says firmly. “He is a living, feeling person. You can’t just—take away his body parts.”  
  
“I’m due to regenerate over tonight’s nightshift, and I’m down to two able-bodied officers. Conditions are—not ideal,” Odo says.  
  
“I could take the night shift,” Julian volunteers.  
  
“No offense, Bashir, but you’re a doctor, not a security guard,” Odo says.  
  
“I’d like to see him,” Julian says.  
  
Odo sighs. “If you must.”  
  
Lore is pacing the cell when they arrive. He doesn’t pause when they enter.  
  
“Come to gloat?” Lore asks. His face is twisted in a sneer, exaggerated and easy to read. It’s amazing how different he is from Data, though physically identical. Data struck Julian as delicate, somehow, soft and childlike. Lore is all raw, sharp edges. He carries himself differently; there’s something angry written into every line of his body. Up close, Julian is struck by how beautiful he is. Every wire in him has been laid down by careful design, and here he is, _alive._ A person in his own right, down to the eyelashes and simulated breathing and free will, disastrous though it might be.  
  
“I’m not here to gloat,” Julian says.  
  
“Well if you’re looking for Data, you’ve come to the wrong place. Soongbot 2.0 is off being a Federation pawn elsewhere. Leave,” Lore says. His pacing falters for a millisecond, so quickly that only someone like Julian could catch it. There’s still a fine tremor running along his limbs from where his escape attempt overloaded his circuits.  
  
Julian’s curiosity overwhelms his (admittedly limited) good sense. “2.0? You weren’t made at the same time?”  
  
Lore snorts. “No. For whatever reason, Soong wasn’t satisfied with lil ole me.” Lore inspects his fingernails. “That old man wouldn’t know perfection if it bit him on the ass.”  
  
Julian has to puff a laugh at that, and Lore looks up, startled. His yellow eyes are striking. _What kind of creator would give up so easily? What kind of parent scraps their son at the first flaw?_ Julian wonders. He can’t help but answer his own question: one Doctor Soong… and one Richard and Amsha Bashir.  
  
“I—had a similar experience,” Julian’s mouth says without his permission.  
  
Lore’s eyes tick sideways as he consults his databanks. Julian can’t help but marvel at it; how human Lore is, down to the tiniest of behaviors.  
  
“Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir, the Federation’s only functional human augment. My, my. If there’s any organic who could come close to being my equal, it’d be you.”  
  
Julian smiles uncomfortably.  
  
“My father would hate you, you know. Can’t stand human augments. Well.” Lore props an elbow against the wall and leans towards Julian, smiling lazily. “Anyone who my father’d hate is good by me. Hello, Doctor Bashir. I’m Lore. Pleased to meet you.”  
  
Julian’s mind skips forwards half a dozen steps, analyzing Lore’s motives. “I won’t take you to the Gamma quadrant,” he says.  
  
Lore smirks. “We’ll see.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
